


The Beautiful Letdown

by leetje



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Euro2004, M/M, Pre-Slash, based on actual footage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetje/pseuds/leetje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happened post-Portugal/Holland at Euro 2004, from Ruud’s POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beautiful Letdown

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and [posted](http://leetje.livejournal.com/139056.html) on LJ back in 2004.
> 
> For the footage, check out [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5P_IVr4oj4) and forward to 3:17. And then there's pictures like [this beautiful one](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/leetje/football/otpsooooogoood.jpg).

He could vaguely hear the final whistle being blown and the stadium exploding with noise and excitement as the home fans celebrated their beloved team’s success. 

All he knew was that they had lost. 

After a thrilling qualification round on the road to Portugal, followed by an equally exciting group stage and a sensational quarter final which ended in breaking through the oh-so hated penalty-syndrome, Holland was out of Euro 2004, beaten fair and square by Portugal, the hosts of the tournament.

Ruud stood a little forlorn on the field, head bent down and hands loosely resting on his hips. He felt utterly disappointed that they hadn't reached the final, again. He honestly had thought that they’d had a good chance at winning the championship this year, because the team consisted of so many talented players and it was a fine mix of young blood with older, more experienced players. 

It was also a big disappointment on a personal level, because Ruud morosely knew this could’ve very well been the last chance for himself as a player to win the European Cup. Four years ago during Euro 2000 in Holland, he had missed out on his chance to shine, having sustained a grueling knee injury that had kept him out for months and had delayed his move to United for an entire year. Instead of playing alongside Kluivert, Ruud had been in the USA recovering from his injury, forced to watch the tournament in front of the TV whilst sitting in a comfy chair, with crutches standing nearby as a painful reminder of his unlucky fate.

Tomorrow he would turn 28, but at the moment he felt like he had no reason to celebrate his birthday at all. At the next European Championship, four years from now, he’d be 32 and Ruud doubted that he would still be an international by then. But glancing over at the embracing Figo and Rui Costa, Ruud guessed that his age would most likely be the last thing he had to worry about when the time came.

Shaking his head, he glanced around the pitch. The Portuguese players were all over each other, hugging and celebrating their victory, while Ruud’s own teammates looked as sad and depressed as he felt himself. Arjen was looking dejectedly at the ground, while Edwin and Giovanni were heatedly discussing the match and Advocaat simply looked like he wasn’t really there at all. Ruud felt sorry for him. The poor man has had a lot to endure in the last few months. The press had not left him alone for one second, trying to paint him black at every opportunity that they’d gotten. Reaching the final by beating Portugal would’ve redeemed him a lot in the eyes of the nation.

However, the match had been out of their control right from the very beginning. Unfortunately for Ruud and the rest of the team, Louis Figo had finally broken through his bad play from recent weeks. Tonight he’d been unstoppable, playing his best game of the tournament yet. Cocu often was left chasing after the Portuguese skipper, trying in vain to stop the man’s brilliant runs and crosses.

But Louis Figo wasn’t the only one who’d delivered an outstanding performance. It had been Ruud’s own teammate from Manchester United, Cristiano Ronaldo, who’d captured his attention and admiration. The youngster had been absolutely magnificent, having played an important part in both of the goals for the Portuguese team. His header, which put Portugal in the lead, had been very powerful and had left Edwin and the Dutch backs completely defenseless.

Ruud’s head shot up as he noticed Anders Frisk walking past him. The referee certainly had not led the match in an objective and fair way. Often his decisions were given to the advantage of the home side, even when they shouldn’t have been. Arjen had been fouled on several occasions, but Frisk let the game continue every time, he even gave the youngster a yellow card for diving in the end. Not to mention that he disallowed Ruud’s goal, which Ruud thought had been completely valid. 

Fuming, Ruud crossed paths with the Swedish man and looked him directly in the eye, his own eyes set to kill. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself Frisk, because I don’t believe you could’ve been any more biased against the Dutch team. In our country we have a word for that, thuisfluiter. I suggest you look it up!” 

Frisk didn’t seem to be intimidated by Ruud’s words as his gaze hardened. “I think it’s unwise of you to have said these things, Mister Van Nistelrooy. And I promise I will definitely look up that word.” With that, Frisk turned around, leaving a completely pissed off Dutchman behind.

Ruud was startled out of his rage as a pair of strong arms encircled his waist from behind, pulling him backwards against a welcoming body. Without looking he knew it had to be Cristiano, whose hot breath tickled the skin of his neck as Cris nuzzled into his hair. 

“Bad loser,” the Portuguese winger whispered into his ear with a heavy accent. “You act like Vieira, maybe need to play for Arsenal too?”

Ruud let out a bemused chuckle, rolling his eyes “Very funny, Cris.” He said, as he turned around, lifting his arm over the younger man’s head, to draw him into a short, yet warm embrace. 

A Portuguese staff member momentarily walked over to them, patting Cristiano on the head and congratulating him in Portuguese, before he strolled on. 

Breaking away, Ruud cradled Cristiano’s head between his hands, looking him directly in the eyes. “You played a brilliant game tonight,” he said softly. “Congratulations, and I hope you’ll go on to win the cup. You deserve it.”

Cristiano beamed at him as he placed an arm around Ruud’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he said. 

They smiled at each other for a moment and Ruud felt something tug at his heart, something he couldn’t quite place. He had experienced a similar feeling like that before, during one of the many extra training sessions that he’d had with the younger man at United. Cristiano had smiled brightly at him, having delivered yet another a perfect cross from which Ruud had been able to score. Seeing the youngster smile so openly, had made Ruud feel utterly lighthearted, momentarily forgetting all of his woes and concerns. 

The deep sound of Cristiano’s uncertain voice brought him out of his musings. “Want to, uhm…. trade shirts?” Ruud smiled endearingly as he nodded his consent. After having lived in England for over a year now, Cristiano was still having difficulties with trying to learn the English language. He often was teased mercilessly by his United teammates, when he didn’t understand a particular word or a typical English joke. Ruud himself had never participated in the teasing, feeling sorry for the younger man, especially because he remembered his own knowledge of the English language had been rather poor as well when he’d first started to play for the team.

While pulling off his shirt, Ruud couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the perfectly sculpted body in front of him. And all of a sudden he had to fight the urge to run his hands over Cristiano’s tanned skin. As if that wasn’t enough of a shock, he felt his body tighten at the sight of the half naked Portuguese. What was going on? He couldn’t be attracted to the teenager, could he? But as Cristiano smiled at him again, Ruud knew that this was probably the only explanation why his body reacted the way it did. Nevertheless, it confused him greatly.

The younger man drew Ruud to his side by putting an arm around his middle, their naked chests touching. Ruud felt his heart skip a beat and was unsure how to react. All he knew was that he had to get away from the youngster as quickly as possible, as he was quickly getting overwhelmed by intense feelings. He turned his head to the other side, not quite meeting the younger man’s eyes. “I’m going to hit the showers and sulk over our loss. Good luck on Sunday and I’ll see you back at United after the summer.”

Cristiano smirked. “Okay, see you then.” As Ruud moved away from the Portuguese winger, he felt a hand firmly patting his behind. He turned around, puzzled. “I forgot, Happy Birthday, Ruud.” Cristiano said, as he winked at the striker. Ruud blushed and quickly walked away.

Walking off the field, Ruud reflected on what had just happened. He had no idea what that had been all about. Did the younger man just flirt with him? Surely Cristiano couldn’t be attracted to him in return.

Ruud had never felt so confused in his entire life. 

And for a moment all thoughts of the lost game had vanished from his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> "Thuisfluiter" means a referee who's quite clearly partial to the home team.


End file.
